Something to leave behind
by ChildOfTheMoon122
Summary: Roger is longing for something to leave behind, something that will survive him and make a difference. When his past catches up with him, he realizes that maybe music is not the only way... Canon couples
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: (for the entire story) I do not own RENT or anything else you might recognize.

A/N: Please review and let me know if there is anyone who wants to keep reading. If there is, I will continue writing. I promise, there will be canon couples! Cross my heart and all that...

Thanks very much to DivaActress for being an awesome beta reader!

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Something to leave behind 

On a very fine morning in early spring of 1991, all of New York City seemed to stop for a moment to take in a deep breath, the air being unusually fresh and sweet.

The magic moment passed soon enough, but it had brought smiles on many faces.

Mimi Marquez had linked arms with her boyfriend Roger Davis as they strolled down a street of Alphabet City, passing beggars, street musicians and slimy street vendors. Despite that, they were both in very good spirits. Mimi was skipping along, Roger was humming a melody he had thought up and in his pocket were three rustling twenty-dollar bills waiting to be spent on groceries.

They reached the store and entered, Roger politely holding the door, first for Mimi, then for two elderly ladies who smiled at him bashfully. Mimi, meanwhile, had grabbed a cart and added canned soup and a couple of bananas to it. Roger joined her and together they made their way though the store, picking up items they needed. Shortly before reaching the cash register, Roger surveyed the contents of the cart. He picked up the bananas and stared at them, frowning.

"We forgot something, didn't we? Mark asked for some kind of fruit..."

"I thought Collins was home," Mimi teased and received a playful prod in the side. "You're right," she went on, "I forgot the strawberries."

"I'll get them", Roger told her, turned around and crashed right into the woman passing behind him, knocking a number of things right out of her hands.

She stumbled and managed not to fall. Roger went down on his knees, saying "Sorry, ma'am" and began scooping up her purchases. Straightening up, he made a move to hand them back to her but froze halfway. The woman gaped at him as well.

She had brown eyes, dirty blond hair and faint worry lines on her forehead.  
She was too skinny to be pretty, a look accentuated by the baggy jeans and the black polo shirt.  
She could have been anything between twenty and thirty, but Roger knew that she was twenty-seven and that her birthday was December 16th, that her favorite color was green, her favorite flowers were forget-me-nots and that she loved kiwis and David Bowie.

"Roger..." she said, her contralto voice still containing the faintest hint of a British accent, "... it's been a long time."

"Yeah," Roger replied, still utterly dumbstruck. It took Mimi poking him in the ribs for him to remember his manners. "Uh, Mimi...," he introduced, "that's Emma... Lynley. Emma, Mimi Marquez, my girlfriend."

Mimi's chocolate eyes darted back and forth between Roger and Emma. She sensed a history there, but chose to save her questions for later. For the moment, she contended herself with smiling pleasantly and gripping Roger's arm just a little tighter.

Emma was looking at Roger as if she had just woken up from a long sleep. Her eyes lingered on his shaggy brown hair, which had been short and bleached blond last time she had seen him, on his impossibly green eyes with the thick fringe of black lashes, almost too pretty for a guy, his thin frame in the jeans and the blue shirt. And his voice... _God, his voice..._

"How have you been?"

It took a moment for Emma to actually understand what he had said, since she had been so deep in thought. "I'm fine. Great, actually," she replied, pasting a smile onto her lips. It looked strained, as if she had forgotten how to smile. Mimi watched her and suspected that there was a story much deeper than the casual small talk the two engaged in let on. Emma looked as if she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in the past couple of _years. _She started fiddling with her car keys while she spoke.

"I took over my aunt's shop. Remember Aunt Linda? Anyway, she's back in London and left me the store. I'm doing fine. How about you?"

"Oh, uh..." Roger frowned a little. How should he explain to his ex-girlfriend from high school he had dumped the night before prom because she hadn't been supportive enough of his rock star dreams that he was dirt broke, a recovered junkie and HIV positive? Not at all, probably. "I'm doing fine. Yeah..."

Mimi was starting to feel uncomfortable. Sensing plenty of unresolved issues between the two of them, she asked pleasantly, "Maybe we could all get together some time? I'm sure the two of you have lots of catching up to do?"

If looks could kill, Mimi would have dropped dead the minute Roger turned his gaze on her. He was hurriedly thinking of a way to get out of the trap dear sweet Mimi had just set him, but was spared the trouble by Emma, who looked less than thrilled herself.

"Actually, I'm always quite busy. There's the store, the flat, and, uh, I have..."

"Mommy!"

A boy came barreling towards them and skidded to a halt just a fraction of a second before crashing right into Roger's side. He was about ten years old, had Emma's hair and an easy smile. With a triumphant gesture he announced, "I found them," and thrust a packet of marshmallows into Emma's hands.

Roger's jaw dropped yet again. "You have a kid?"

Emma squirmed as if she had been put in scalding oil. "Yes. This is Andrew, my son. Andy, say hello to Roger and Mimi."

The little one stuck out his hand politely and grinned at them. Roger and Mimi shook hands with the miniature of what would one day surely turn out to be a heartthrob. Especially his eyes were breathtaking: impossibly green with a thick fringe of black lashes, almost too pretty for a boy.

Roger couldn't help himself; he asked, "How old are you, Andrew?"

And as soon as the boy had answered "Ten," his mother had grabbed his hand, murmured an apology and all but ran out the store, forgetting about the pack of marshmallows she had not yet paid. Thankfully, the store's employees didn't notice anything.

Mimi was fed up with the secrecy, crossed her arms in front of her chest and asked firmly, "Who was that, baby?"

"That," answered her boyfriend flatly, "was my high school girlfriend Emma. And I think that was my son!"

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	2. Chapter 2

A/N: There it is: chapter two, enjoy it! Thanks to DivaActress for being the most wonderful beta! Please review!

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Roger had flat out refused to answer any of Mimi's questions until they were back at the loft. Once there, he thrust the plastic bag filled with groceries onto the metal table, not caring that half its contents spilled out and crashed to the floor. For a moment, he stood in the middle of the room, panting like a cornered animal. Then he yelled "Fuck!" and punched the table hard enough to feel a vicious stab of pain shooting up his arm. 

Mimi was getting scared. She picked up the food and stuffed it into the fridge.

"Do you need an ice pack for that?" she asked, nodding towards Roger's hand. He looked down at his mangled knuckles and chuckled sadly. "Yes, please!"

She handed him one from the freezer and then led him over to the couch. Roger's energy seemed spent and he let her lead him around like a puppy.

The ice on his hand was numbing the throbbing pain pleasantly and he took a deep breath before closing his eyes and speaking again.

"Okay. Ask away, Meems!"

Mimi hesitated a little. "Why do you think that he was your son? You haven't seen each other since high school; she could have had a hundred different boyfriends since then."

"He's ten, Mimi. Ten years ago, we'd just graduated. Besides, he has my eyes, don't you think?"

"There are plenty of guys with green eyes, baby," Mimi tried to reason, although she herself could not shake the image of the clear jade eyes of the boy. "It's not like she named him Roger or anything..."

He smiled mirthlessly, his hand clutching the ice pack even harder. The coldness was beginning to burn. "No. No, she did not call him Roger." Suddenly, he turned to look at his girlfriend, an expression of perplexity on his face. "I can't believe I have to ask this... What's your middle name, Mimi?"

Mimi felt a sinking sensation in her stomach, knowing exactly where Roger was going with this. Fighting the sudden urge to throw up, she answered, "It's Teresa. Maria Teresa Marquez." She took a deep breath. "What's yours?"

"Roger Andrew Davis."

She bit her bottom lip until she tasted metallic blood on her tongue. "Wouldn't she have...Why would..." Heavy silence. "What are you going to do?"

Roger groaned and got to his feet. "Drink myself into stupidity. I don't know."

Mimi was starting to panic. "How can you not know? You might have a son with another woman, you have to do something! Roger!"

He chucked the ice pack to the floor and yelled, "I said I don't fucking know! Jesus!"

As Mimi tried to take his arm, he jerked it out of her grasp and stumbled away into his room.

"Roger," she called after him. He paused in the doorway. Without turning around, he begged, "Please, Mimi, give me some space. I need to be alone right now."

And the door closed behind him.

* * *

Tuesday was girls' day. That meant that Mimi, Maureen and Joanne met up at their favorite diner, the Moondance, and talked just about everything guys were not supposed to hear or wouldn't understand anyway. Angel, too, had come to these gatherings. His death had left a gaping hole in the small community. 

Mimi was early on this particular Tuesday. She was sipping her third coke and stared at the tabletop with such a forlorn expression on her face that the waiter, Jonathan, just couldn't, in good conscience, pass her by one more time without asking her what was wrong.

Jonathan was a great guy who knew the three women by name and always made sure to be working on Tuesdays while they had their little meetings. A bohemian himself, he could relate to their way of life and enjoyed hearing about the events happening around the loft. He was a composer and writer and Joanne had once said that only a true genius could pull off hair like Jonathan's: black, curly, and utterly untamable.

He pulled up a chair and sat down next to Mimi. She turned to face him, giving him a watery smile. "You're gonna ask me what's wrong, right?" As Jonathan nodded, she continued, "You're going to be surprised, believe me..."

Half an hour later, Maureen and Joanne had arrived as well and Mimi told them and Jonathan about Roger's suspicion that Andrew Lynley might be his son...and also that he hadn't spoken to her since he found out, which had been four days ago. Maureen and Joanne looked utterly dumbstruck and shared Mimi's opinion about Roger having to do something. Jonathan, in the meantime, appeared to be lost in thought. "Lynley... Lynley... that name rings a bell... HA!" he yelled suddenly, making the three women jump in surprise. Maureen spilled ice tea down her shirt. She didn't say anything, though, but waited to hear Jonathan's epiphany.

"Linda Lynley," he announced proudly, "owns, or owned, that florist's store... The English Garden!"

"I've heard of that place," Joanne agreed enthusiastically. "Thanks, Jon, you're the best. Now, at least, we can do something."

Mimi was absentmindedly drawing little stick figures with her fries. Joanne's last comment, however, caught her attention.

"_Do _something? Like what?" she asked. She looked tired and the bags under her eyes proved that the last couple of nights had not been restful. "I don't want to sneak around behind Roger's back, that'll only make him angry."

"Hey, Jonathan!" a voice yelled from the kitchen, "you're not being paid to sit around. Move your ass, man!"

Jonathan chuckled and excused himself. Before he left, he gave Mimi a reassuring hug and told her, "Everything will be fine."

Mimi smiled sadly, unable to believe him. The disheartened expression on her face made Joanne and Maureen exchange worried glances.

"Meems, I know you don't want to upset Roger," Joanne said gently "but perhaps you ought to consider doing something, if only to ease your own mind. You know Roger, he's really not great about doing stuff on his own."

"True," Maureen agreed, wiping at the stain on her shirt with her napkin, "he always waits for Mark to do stuff for him."

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Walking into the "English Garden", Mark asked himself for the hundredth time what made him agree to this. Maureen had handpicked him as their spy since he was a friendly guy people confided in easily, plus being, according to Maureen, "easy on the eyes". 

Still, he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. When he met Roger through Collins, those nine years ago, Emma had still been fresh on the rocker's mind and he had talked about her a lot. What Mark had heard about her made him imagine a formidable opponent in a verbal sparring and a dashing woman to boot. What he saw when he looked at Emma Lynley for the first time was neither. She was standing behind the counter, rearranging a bouquet of tulips and looked up for a second when she heard the bell. "I'll be with you in a second," she said, her smile professionally polite.

Mark studied her. She had the stressed-out, thin and slightly nervous look he had seen quite often in single mothers in New York City. But there was something else, as well, an underlying sadness eating away at her strength. Perhaps, as a filmmaker, he was over-interpreting her, but it was probably safe to assume that he was right.

On the counter sat a framed photograph. While Emma busied herself with the tulips, he took the time to look at the boy in the picture. He found himself not doubting for a second that Andy Lynley was Roger's son. It wasn't just the eyes, he discovered. There was something about his chin, his lips, the way he smiled... Never in a million years could this kid deny that his father had been someone extraordinary.

"How can I help you?"

Emma's voice shook Mark out of his contemplation.

"Yeah, um... My name is Mark Cohen, I'm supposed to get some flowers for a friend of mine, but I have no idea what to get." He smiled sheepishly, raising his hands in a helpless gesture. Emma's smile grew friendlier.

"Don't worry," she assured him pleasantly, "we'll find something. What's the occasion?"

Now for the difficult part... "My friend just found out he has a kid."

"How lovely! Okay, if the flowers are for a spouse or girlfriend, we could go for the classic red roses..." She took a step towards a vase of long-stemmed blood red roses.

"Their not married," Mark interjected, "They're not even dating anymore."

Emma raised an eyebrow. Her smile diminished somewhat and she bit her bottom lip.

"But the baby... is it a boy or a girl?"

Game over. She knew what he was aiming for. He hadn't been subtle enough, but that had been expected. With a sickening jolt he thought of what Roger would say if he saw him.

"It's not a baby. A boy, and he is ten."

All traces of a smile were gone from her face and she crossed her arms in front of her chest defiantly.

"Who the bloody hell do you think you are?" she asked angrily. "Does Roger really think I'm that much of an idiot not to notice when he sends on of his mates here to... to spy on me?"

Mark shook his head and tried to pacify her. "He didn't send me. Roger doesn't even know I'm here. It's just... he suspects that Andrew is his son. He is, isn't he?"

"No," Emma spat fiercely, "he is my son! We got on well, for ten bloody years without relying on any bloke, and I'll be damned before I start now!"

This made Mark angry. He didn't like her accusing Roger of not being there for a child he didn't even know he had. He was about to say something when Emma held up her hand to stop him.

"Enough of that!" she said flatly, "I don't even know you. This is my life, and therefore certainly none of your business." Her gaze softened a little. "I'm sorry. I'm just pissed off that Roger didn't have the balls to come here himself, but I shouldn't take that out on you. Tell Roger to come see me if he wants to get to know his son. If he doesn't..." She shrugged and smiled sadly. "We've managed so far."

Mark turned to leave, but before he reached the door, he paused. There was one question burning in the back of his mind he had to get an answer for.

"Why didn't you tell him you were pregnant? I know you broke up, but you could have still told him."

Emma shrugged, making the tulips in her hand nod their heads as if they were wiser than the two humans present. "I guess I didn't want to tie him down. He dumped me because I thought that becoming a rock star right out of high school was not the most realistic goal. Said I wasn't supportive enough. But he was a decent bloke, and certainly not one to knock up a bird and then leave her out in the cold. He would've married me, I suppose, gotten a decent job and taken care of me and the wee one. But he would've been miserable the entire time, and at some point, it would have been too much. I didn't want that for him. He had so many dreams and in his mind, he had the entire world and all paths were open for him." Her eyes were slowly filling with tears and she swiped at them angrily. "I hope he made use of his time up till now..."

Mark nodded weakly and walked out of the shop, the door falling shut behind him with a merry jingle of bells. He himself felt as if he had just been punched in the gut. Emma's words, kind though they had been, were seeping into his brain like poison. The filmmaker tried to imagine the scenario of Roger learning about his ex-girlfriend's pregnancy, marrying her, becoming an accountant or some such job and leading a perfectly ordinary life. It was true that he would have been miserable and probably sooner or later would have blown up and left, but there was one thing he was now he probably wouldn't have been then.

Dying.

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	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Can you believe it? I actually updated. Sorry, my life has been really busy lately, although I don't want to bore you with details. From now on, updates will be much more frequent. Feedback is more than appreciated; in other words: Please review!!! Thanks to my beta, DivaActress.

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When Mark returned to the loft, he could sense trouble in the air as soon as he opened the door. Roger was waiting for him, his arms crossed in front of his chest and a look of cold fury on his face. 

"Spill!" he commanded, cutting Mark off in mid-greeting.

"Spill what?" the filmmaker asked weakly, in a last desperate attempt to lie his way out of this trap. Roger was barefooted and in his old plaid pajama pants, but he looked ready to kill nonetheless.

"I was just out buying..." Mark cast wildly around for something he could have been getting, but Roger interrupted him again.

"Save it, Mark. Mimi told me where you were. I don't really know why you think you have to meddle in my life..."

"Meddle in your life?" Mark asked, firing up at once, "Yeah, and a really great fucking life you have, Rog! Just in case you care: You have a son!"

The words seemed to hang in the air like a cloud of poisonous fume.

Roger sighed, the fight leaking out of him. "What did she say?"

Mark finally but down his bag and ran his hand tiredly through his hair.

"Not much," he admitted, "she thought you sent me and was pretty pissed by that. Anyway, if you wanna get to know Andrew, you're supposed to give her a call and if not, well, pretty much just stay away."

"Huh." Roger sank onto the duct-taped couch. "Tell me what to do!"

Mark couldn't resist pointing out, "A minute ago you told me to stop meddling in your life," but he relented at the pained look in Roger's eyes. "I don't know. If you were any other guy, I'd say give her a call at once. But things being as they are..."

He didn't have to say it out right. Roger wasn't going to be around forever. Even if he and Andrew did get along, he would probably be dead before Andy went to college.

"Yeah," the rocker agreed, "pretty fucked up." He chuckled mirthlessly. "I should apologize to Mimi. I yelled at her pretty harshly earlier." Standing up, he stretched and listened to several joints in his back pop.

"See you in a few," he called out to Mark who was unpacking his camera from his beat-up old messenger bag. Then he climbed out the window and down the fire escape.

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Mimi's window was open and he climbed in. She was standing at the door and was staring bleakly into a cup of coffee. Apparently, she was so concentrated on listening for footsteps on the stairs that she completely forgot about the window. 

Roger crept up behind her and put his arms around her waist. She flinched and hot coffee spilled down his arms, but he ignored the pain and whispered into her hair, "I'm sorry, baby. I love you!"

She turned in his arms and put her head on his chest. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have stuck my nose in your business."

Roger shook his head. "You're my girl! My business is your business. It was just... seeing Emma again and then this _kid_... it just freaked me out." He sighed. "She told Mark that I could call her if I wanted to get to know... you know!"

Mimi stepped out of his embrace and led him over to the couch, pushing him down on it and taking a seat on his lap.

"You don't know what you're supposed to do," she stated matter-of-factly.

Roger nodded.

"Call her!" she said at once. "He's your kid. Call her and let it be her call if she introduces you as her friend or as his daddy."

He sighed once more and kissed her hair. "I'm scared, Meems."

* * *

It had been a week since Mark's encounter with Roger's past. 

Emma was sweeping up fallen leaves and cuttings when the doorbell announced another customer.

"Be with you in a minute!" she called without looking up.

"Take your time," the answer came from a voice she would have recognized out of all the voices in the world. She straightened up so quickly her neck gave a harsh cracking sound. Ignoring the momentary stab of pain, she looked across the store at Roger, who, in ripped jeans, a green t-shirt and his black leather jacket, looked very out-of-place amongst the roses, chrysanthemums, lilies and orchids.

"Hi, Emma," he greeted her sheepishly.

She nodded, momentarily stunned into silence. After a moment, she cleared her throat. "I had hoped that perhaps you'd call. But this is unexpected. If you were hoping to see Andy, it's a little early for that. He's still in school."

"I know," Roger said quickly. "I just wanted to discuss the situation with you."

Emma shrugged and pulled off her rubber gloves. "There's really not that much to discuss. Either you want to be a part of Andy's life or you don't. It's that simple."

"For you perhaps," Roger snapped, "but that's not unexpected, is it. You like the easy way."

If Emma had opened her eyes a little farther, they would have popped out of their sockets.

"The easy way?" she asked, incredulous. "Yeah, since it was so bloody easy to raise a kid in New York City without a father."

"I suppose it was easier not to tell me about him," Roger shot back, "instead of having to actually have something to do with me again."

"I did this for you!" Emma screamed at him.

They both became quiet, the silence crackling with suppressed emotions.

"This is a little much for me!" Roger finally said. "A while ago, you were just a pleasant memory of my past and now we have a kid..."

"I have a child," she interrupted him. "Whether or not you have one depends entirely on you."

He ran his hands through his hair and groaned. Unable to keep looking at her, he started pacing. The smell of the different flowers and plants, along with the musty scent of moist earth was nauseating.

"My situation is difficult," he finally managed to say. "How about I give you my number and my address and you come by some time and just take a look." He looked her square in the eyes again. "I think I want to get to know Andy. Whether I'll be a part of his life, and whether or not he's gonna get to know me as his... his father; that I'll leave up to you."

* * *

Emma's apartment was on the third floor, along with another one. Her neighbor was a nice guy who had looked after Andy a couple of times and sometimes, Emma invited him to dinner with them since he lived alone after his lover had died from AIDS. He himself was HIV positive, but Emma, knowing how very responsible he was, wasn't worried about him being around Andrew. 

Emma had invited him to dinner again that evening and he had joined her in the kitchen to give her a hand in order to get everything done before Andrew returned from basketball training.

"Are you finally gonna tell me what's wrong with you, sweetheart?" he asked her while he was slicing carrots. Emma had been constantly distracted for the past several days and it hadn't gone unnoticed.

She put down the potato she had been peeling, heaved a deep sigh and said, "I met Andy's dad. He lives in Manhattan. He wants to get to know him."

"Well, isn't that great?" he beamed at her. "Come on, give the guy a chance, he could have changed in ten years."

Emma laughed and resumed the peeling of her potatoes. "I don't know so much about that. He still seemed like the old Roger to me."

His face fell a little. "Does this... Roger... have a last name?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

A worried look crept across Emma's features. "Davis. It's Roger Davis." Her neighbor looked positively horrified now and she grasped his arm. "Gordon, what is it?"

"I think I know Andy's dad..." Gordon said slowly. "Emma, I think I know him... from my Life Support group."

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